


The First Time Tristan Farnon Hit on His Best Friend, James Herriot

by skripka



Category: All Creatures Great and Small (TV)
Genre: M/M, Meet-Cute, meet-drunk more like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-14
Updated: 2007-11-14
Packaged: 2019-10-24 10:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17702840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skripka/pseuds/skripka
Summary: "That's because the people here go stark raving mad after about two winters. Three, if they're of especially strong constitution.""And how long, may I ask, Tristan, have you been here?"





	The First Time Tristan Farnon Hit on His Best Friend, James Herriot

**Author's Note:**

> unbetaed instafic from the LJ days.

James was examining the wardrobe in his room, considering his plan for unpacking his trunk. It looked like it could all fit, but he had been fooled before. He had just turned to pull out his first suit when there was a bang and scuttle from the hallway. James frowned, but lay the suit on a nearby bench, and crossed the room to the door. When he pulled it open, there was a rather disheveled form leaning against the wall. A rather attractively disheveled form, if he had to admit it.

"I say." It was of course, an easy enough greeting between two young men. "Are you okay?"

The disheveled form looked up from where it was perusing a dent in the wainscoting that James was fairly sure hadn't been there earlier. The disheveled form then brushed its disheveled blond hair back from his face and managed a fairly liquid smile. The movement brought a whiff of what must have been the local pub to James' nose.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, mentally kicking himself for asking such an inane question. Of course the disheveled form was drunk; it smelled, looked, and moved as a drunk form would. Empirically, James had to assume the disheveled form had spent the evening at the pub. Probably drinking far too much ale.

Oddly, James realized that he was thirsty.

"Tristan." The disheveled form made his liquid smile again.

"Come again?" James wasn't sure ... but oh, yes. He had met Seigfried before, and this must be the brother...

"Tristan." Disheveled, who James must now refer to as Tristan, held out his hand. "Tristan Farnon, at your service."

James took Tristan's hand, only glancing down warily for a brief second. "James Herriot. The new vet."

"Ahhhhh." Tristan's movements were expansive, and he ended up somehow twisting his body past James' and into James' new abode.

"The answer to all of Seigfried's problems." Tristan half-sat, half-fell onto James' new, pristinely clean bed and promptly swung his shoes up on the covers. James winced and started to protest, when Tristan sat up, still bright in the eye. "Do you, James, old boy, know what Seigfried's problems entail?" Tristan pointed a wobbly finger at James, then turned it onto himself to scratch his cheek.

"The job posting said he was understaffed." James spared a thankful moment for his clothes being in their locker still, and not sorted on the bed, under Tristan Farnon's long, pub-scented form.

"Ah." Tristan fell backwards, arms folded behind his neck, and examined the ceiling intently. "That's because the people here go stark raving mad after about two winters. Three, if they're of especially strong constitution."

It was obviously an invitation to continue the conversation, so James sighed and sat down on his bed, shoving Tristan's legs away, not terribly gently.

Tristan grumbled slightly but let his legs give James enough room. "And how long, may I ask, Tristan, have you been here?"

"Oh, don't call me Tristan, please. That's what Siegfried does. My friends call me Tris."

"I'm guessing more than a couple of winters, then?" James pushed on with his slightly macabre curiosity. He was actually smiling now, because among the skills Tristan had besides pub hopping and bed-dirtying seemed to be an immense charm.

Tristan (Tris) leaned his chin up and smiled his watery smile. "Eons." His head tilted to the left and his hair fell back into its former disheveled state. "At least you're nice to look at. Last one made it to February, but I wasn't sorry to see him go." Tris shuddered. "He had a wall-eye and more ear hair than my brother."

"Are you chatting me up, Mr. Farnon?" James smiled again. This was certainly not too unwelcome, although James had rather thought that phase of his life over after school.

"Maybe." Tristan fell backwards to stare at the ceiling some more. "Maybe I just don't think I can make it to my room when the world is spinning like a very, very fast carousel."

Now James frowned worriedly. "You're that drunk?" He stood up and took the step to place his hand on Tris' forehead. "Do I need to get you an emetic or something?

Tris batted James' hands away. "Oh, god, no. Just let me lie here in peace. I'll be fine. And there's plenty of aspirin in the surgery for morning."

James stood. "Okay, but where am I to sleep?" The room was comfortably sized for a single man, but Tris took up a lot of space. "Is your room far?"

Tris made a aggravated sigh. "You don't want my room. It's a mess and this bed is far more comfortable than my own." He poked at it to demonstrate. "Just... " The poking finger turned into a patting hand. "I don't bite."

"Not what I was worried about." James began undoing his tie, wondering briefly where his pajamas had made off to. As he searched his locker, he heard one loud thump followed by another. James peeked over the lid. 

Tristan was half-sitting, having kicked his shoes to the floor. "What? Who in their right mind would sleep in their shoes?"

James smiled. "Nobody, I imagine."

Tristan nodded. "Exactly." He then made a production of moving bed covers and pillows around. James found his night clothes and slipped into them as discreetly as he could. James was tying off his pants when Tristan spoke up again. "Do you snore?"

"What?" James looked over the locker again. "Not that I'm aware of." He hastily shoved his hands into the sleeves of his shirt.

Tristan was staring at the bedclothes with a considering look. "I do. Horrendously. It's worse when I drink." He looked up and smiled brightly at James who had paused to take the information in. "Still. I'll just take the side by the window, if you don't mind?

James shook his head, and gingerly sat on the near side of his bed. Tristan flung himself into place with a bit more enthusiasm. "Good thing you're here, James. If I do get sick overnight, I imagine you'll put me back together right as rain."

James frowned and looked at Tristan, lying at ease on James' own bed. "You're not so drunk anymore."

Tristan gave a mighty sigh. "Sadly, that happens. Good night, James." And with that, Tristan rolled onto his side and began to snore.

James winced as he pulled the covers up to cover them both. He managed to settle in, the warmth of Tristan at his back a not-unpleasant feeling.

"See you at breakfast, then, I guess," he said just as he closed his eyes.

"Not bloody likely," was the muffled reply.


End file.
